


When Art-Forms Collide

by DValkyrie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Florist and Tattoo Arist!AU, Fluff, don't know yet, maybe some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DValkyrie/pseuds/DValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>French florist opens up a shop next to an English tattoo artist in the bustling city of London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Florist & Tattoo Artist!AU. It will be updated over due time, just not regularly.

Heels clicking against the stone pavement, the weather was just like everyone said it would be in London: cold, grey and wet. The whole city looked like a black and white photo. There wasn’t a splash of colour apart from the odd car that wasn’t a monochromic tone.

When people looked at the woman with the loud heels, their irises bulged. The umbrella was a light blue, adorned with navy blue patterns. The woman was in her mid twenties, and the slick, shiny blue heels she wore accentuated her height. 

The dress she wore was also blue, but there was a white sash around her waist, and tied in a bow at the back. Her trench coat, however, was an off white, as well as her handbag and nail polish. The woman had long, silvery blonde hair and bright, periwinkle blue eyes that shone against her fair skin. With her umbrella in her left hand, her handbag was dangling from her right fingertips. 

She stopped walking once she reached her destination, and turned left to face the building: a closed, empty shop. Two glass windows centred the grey wooden door. The interior was tiled, with dull empty walls and a desk at the back. Behind the desk to the right was another door.

The woman sighed, taking in the lifeless shop. She had purchased it only two months ago, but the paperwork took longer than usual (as it always does,) and renewing her visa wasn’t the easiest process. Adjusting her umbrella to be held with her shoulder, the woman opened her bag and fumbled for the keys to the shop. She had just picked them up only an hour ago. There were four keys on the ring: the old-fashioned chrome key opened the front door.

With a quiet ‘click,’ the woman opened the door and stepped inside.

The place was dusty, and piled up on the empty shelving behind the desk. The woman closed her umbrella and placed it neatly against the window. With a quick shake, the woman let her hair free while she let out another sigh.

This was hers. It was all hers. 

She sniffed the air, and grimaced. Reaching into the pocket of her trench coat, she pulled out a packet of cigarettes and her silver lighter. Once the stick of poison was firmly between her lips, she took a long drag on the cigarette and closed her eyes.

Fleur had a lot of work to do.


	2. Beginnings

It took around a month to get Beauxbatons in some sort of acceptable state. 

Even though the repairs and paint jobs were under warranty, paying for the stock had to come out of Fleur’s own pocket. 

Her purse was practically whimpering on her coffee table. Its owner was sitting at the counter on a bar stool, sifting through a stack of resumes. 

While Fleur had a masters degree in botany, and was more than capable of running her store by herself, she did need two more people to help her out. 

With a cigarette dangling from her lips, Fleur scanned paper after paper of useless qualifications and ridiculous highschool achievements. 

“There’s no one good in London,” she thought, tossing yet another resume into the ‘useless’ pile. 

While she breathed out the toxic chemicals, Fleur came across one resume that made her pause. This person had a bachelor degree in fine arts, and experience with exotic plants. 

“Interesting,” Fleur observed the resume with raised eyebrows. To her surprise, the owner of the resume was four years younger than Fleur, and fresh out of university and looking for a full time job. She pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen to punch in the number. Two rings later, and a female voice answered on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Bonjour, is this miss Luna Lovegood?” Fleur’s accent was rather thick, since she hadn’t spoken any English that day.

“Yes, it is. May I ask who is calling? No wait, you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re a Lindybite, a spirit from Denmark, come to take my firstborn child?”

“N-Non, my name is Fleur. I am the manager of Beauxbatons Florist.”

“Ah! You’re foreign.”

“Oui, I am. I am calling to see if you are still in need of employment. Your resume was handed to me through an online website.”

“…”

“Hello?”

“Sorry, my cat keeps bringing home glitter-mice.”

Fleur raised an eyebrow, not sure if this woman was messing with her.

“So you looked at my resume? How lovely. Yes, I am still unemployed.”

“In that case, would you like to come in for a one-on-one interview?”

There was silence for a bit, in which Fleur played with the hem of her green floral skirt. 

While she tapped the excess off her cigarette, the girl, Luna was thinking on the other end of the phone.

“Since Neptune hasn’t rained and the Arctic still has a sea lion, yes. I will take up your offer, Fleur.”

“Tres bien, the shop is number 22, Wytchen road. I hate to do this so late, but would you be able to come in today at around 3?”

“That won’t be a problem. Thank you, Fleur. I have a good feeling about this.”

“Likewise, see you then.”

Fleur hung up, and had to take a minute to process what had just happened. 

Only one other resume stood out to Fleur. A boy three years younger than her, with a bachelor of honours in finance. She called the boy up and asked him to come in for an interview, in which he scoffed, but accepted.

“It’ll look good on my resume, I suppose, for when I move up in the financial world.”

***

And soon enough, there they were, downstairs in the still empty flower shop at 3pm. 

Both of them were blonde, with Draco being a little bit taller than Luna. 

Their style of clothing was completely different to one another. Draco in a black suit with a green shirt was contrasted against Luna’s yellow and blue dress. She also had large sunglasses on top of her head. Fleur leaned against the counter, observing the two. They were so different, even down to the way they stood, but she had a feeling that they could be what she needed.

“Are you going to gape at us all day?” Draco asked loudly, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. Fleur let her lip quirk up into a smile.

“Non,” the Frenchwoman pushed herself off the counter and reached into her skirt pocket. An extra keyset was in her hand. Fleur walked up to Luna and handed her the keys.

“These are yours,” she said, careful as to not break out into French. Draco opened his mouth, but Fleur shot him a sideways glance.

“There is another set being cut as I speak. You will get yours tomorrow.”

He closed his mouth. Fleur smiled at her two new employees.

“Stock comes in tomorrow afternoon, and I’d like you both to be here at around noon to help unpack and set this place up. You both have my number in your phones, so ring me once you get here.”

She took a deep breath, not wanting to come across as a dictator straight away.

“I will go over with you both on how to sell, cut, wash, maintain and arrange flowers. I have a very specific method, which I was taught to me by a mentor of mine back in France. It’s very different to the English method, and that’s why customers will come back to us. Understand?”

Draco and Luna nodded, and Fleur’s smile widened.


	3. Oblivious

Fleur was taught by Olympe Maxime, one of the greatest florists in France.  
  
She had discovered her little passion for flowers during her degree, and worked part time at Maxime’s shop.  
  
Once her degree had finished, Fleur took Maxime’s offer for an apprenticeship, and stayed with the shop for two years.  
  


**Two years earlier**

 

“Fleur, you need to be more gentle, remember?” Maxime eyed the tight ribbon around a bouquet of gardenias. Fleur rolled her eyes and loosened the ribbon.  
  
“Flowers are a way of showing someone you care about them” Maxime took the ribbon from Fleur and gently started to weave it around the gardenias.  
  
“It’s not just the customer giving the flowers to whomever. It’s also you.”  
  
Maxime’s hands, as large as they were, delicately followed a pattern that was memorised from years of practice and training.  
  
“You’d think the customer wouldn’t care less about whom arranges the flowers.”  
  
Maxime smiled. She was used to Fleur’s commentary by now. As she fixed up the bow to be a perfect, emerald green curve, she continued to speak.  
  
“It is like when you buy a painting. Where you choose to hang it in your house, or how high you place it is only half of the presentation. People want the best pieces of artworks to hang in their house, because it shows their status – as well as the relationship they have with the artist. They trust the artist enough to hang open of their paintings in their sacred home.”  
  
Fleur raised an eyebrow, ignoring the cravings for a cigarette as Maxime straightened up and smiled at her.  
  
“Just remember: You are being reflected in every bouquet you arrange and every flower you water. Always provide the best flowers you can.”

 

 **Present Day**  


Two weeks later,  _Beaxbatons_ was in business. Fleur already had orders coming in for wedding, birthday and get-well-soon bouquets. 

Every morning, Fleur would wake up, have a cigarette, eat breakfast, get dressed and open up the shop.  
  
Trading hours were from 9-6. Fleur’s roster was carefully designed to allow all herself, Draco and Luna two days off a week.  
  
Most days, seeing as it was autumn, were actually rather quiet for the store. The orders didn’t take long to do, and the clients were normally very good at picking the bouquets up on time. Most of the time, the three would just flutter around the store, watering plants and checking the tills.  
  
Every three hours, Fleur would go out the back into the street to have a cigarette, and she allowed the same for Draco and Luna. However, as neither of them smoked, she substituted that with a coffee break.  
  
Pay came every two weeks, and it was normally Fleur who would crunch the numbers.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the blonde Frenchwoman was doing just that. Draco was busy explaining the difference between two types of tulips to a rather large man with a black beard and brown jacket.

The man let out a bark of laughter at the way Draco pronounced the word, and slapped his hand down against the counter. Fleur jumped in shock and looked up. 

“Ah, Sorry love,” the man apologised, and Fleur sighed before returning to her number crunching.  
  
In the end, the man had purchased the yellow tulips, and paid in cash.  
  
“Sorry about the large note, but I need it for next door, see.” The man then rolled up his brown jacket to reveal his large, thick arm.  
  
It was covered in tattoos, with a small blank space. Fleur caught it from the corner of her eye, and her jaw dropped.  
  
There were so many designs, ranging from grayscale to coloured. Tattoos fascinated her, and although she only had one, the thought of more was intriguing.  
  
“What’s next door?” Fleur spoke up. It occurred to her that she had never seen the store to her right, as she always turned left when she left the store, because the supermarket was in the large shopping complex down the road. The man raised a thick, black eyebrow.  
  
“ _Gryffindor Ink,_ the tattoo parlor is next door. I’m going in there to get some more ink.”  
  
_“A tattoo parlor?!”_ Fleur exclaimed in French. She shut the payroll book and darted to the front door.

Fleur practically kicked it open and skidded to the right.

Sure enough, the large man told the truth.  
  
The shop was of the same size, and the front was a mixture of black, white, red and gold. A large lion was painted onto the window, with frosted glass for privacy. Above the lion, in large scripted letters, read:  
  
_GRYFFINDOR INK._  
OWNED BY H.G  
  



	4. Gryffindor Ink

The door to _Gryffindor Ink_ jingled open, and the smell of cleaning products wafted through the slip, free to roam London.

  
“Hermione! I’m ready for the ink!” The large, black-bearded man boomed throughout the parlor. It was insanely clean, to the point that a hospital looked like a public toilet compared to the shiny white floors and spotless desks.

  
A woman with red hair poked her head out of a room at the very back of the parlour. Her face was covered in piercings, and her arms in tattoos. Her eyes, covered in black eyeliner, lit up as they scanned the customer.

  
“Hello Hagrid!” she greeted, skipping over to him with a smile.

  
“Hey there Ginny, I’m here for some ink.”

  
“Yes of course, you booked last Saturday if I remember?” Ginny quickly tapped into the computer at the reception desk and scanned a program.

  
“Yep, here you are! And you’re right on time! I’ll jus go get ‘Mione for you. Would you like a seat in the meantime? Or a drink?”

  
“I’ll just be here, don’t worry about anything else,” Hagrid smiled at the redhead while he wearily on the red and gold couch near the window to the front of the parlour.

  
Ginny skipped to the back of the parlour and opened a door to the left that read ‘STAFF ONLY.’ It was their office area.

  
Inside was a desk with two chairs in front and a fridge. A man with dark skin and covered in tribal tattoos stood in the corner unpacking a box of gloves.

  
“Hermione, Hagrid is here for his appointment,” Ginny grinned at the woman sitting behind the desk, reading a history book on the industrial revolution.

  
The woman was of an average build, with long, bushy brown hair that was tied back into a low, loose ponytail. Like the other two, she was also heavily tattooed, but the designs on her arms were different; her right arm had a sleeve of clocks, books and roses, and her left had wispy white smoke with otters. Lifting her brown gaze up at her receptionist and body piercer, Hermione smiled, her two front teeth protruding.

  
“Excellent,” she shut the book and got to her feet, adjusting her black tank top. 

* * *

 

“So, what made you want to get Fang’s name on your arm, Hagrid?” Hermione asked as she carefully placed the needle with ink to the large man’s skin.

It was a practice she had been doing for quite some time. Hagrid hummed in thought, not batting an eyelid as the needle penetrated his skin.

“Well, Fang’s been my best friend for a very long time, and he’s getting old now, so if something does happen, god forbid, then at least he’ll always be with me,” Hagrid explained, blinking back tears from his eyes.

Hermione gently took the needle off and scanned him.

“Is it hurting?”

  
“N-No…I just don’t think I’ll be able to bare the thought of losing him, is all,” the large man sniffled and smiled at Hermione.

  
“It’s okay, keep going, Hermione.”

  
“Who are the flowers for, Hagrid?” Ginny only just noticed the tulips sitting on the table next to Hagrid. Hermione automatically blocked out the conversation, as she worked better in silence.

  
“They’re for my brother, Grawp. He’s a bit sick at the moment, but he likes the colour yellow.”

  
“Oh, not a girl you’re sweet on?”

  
“Nah, no one around, Ginny,” Hagrid smiled as Hermione continued to work.

  
“You’re like a machine, ‘Mione!” Ginny peered over her boss’s shoulder to admire the work. In cursive letters, the ‘F’ and ‘A’ outlines had been finished already.”

  
“You two don’t realise how long you talk for. This took nearly 20 minutes,” Hermione admitted. Ginny smirked and raised a perfect, red eyebrow.

  
“Anyway, don’t you have things to do? Needles to sterilise or something?”

  
“In other words, get lost,” Ginny interpreted the meaning and turned on her heel with a smile.

  
“Let me see when it’s finished though, yeah? I’d like to take a photo and put it on our website, if Hagrid is okay with that?”

  
“Sure, why not? More than happy to show off ‘Mione’s skill,” Hagrid smiled, making the brunette blush..

* * *

  
  
Fleur opened the back door to her shop with a pack of cigarettes in her hand. She needed one desperately. How could she have not seen a tattoo parlor right next door to her new shop?!

  
_“Well, to be fair, you_ haven’t _ever turned right. The grocery store is on the left, and you live on top of the store,”_ The voice in her head made Fleur scowl while she held a stick of toxin between her lips. Fumbling around for her small blue lighter was a way to block out the voice.

  
_“You’re not angry about it being a tattoo parlour, you’re annoyed that you didn’t notice it.”_

With a huff, the blonde finally found her lighter deep within the back pocket of her jeans. She flicked the flame alive and placed it to the end of her cigarette.

  
Taking the first puff instantly relaxed Fleur. She made a mental note to check out the parlor tomorrow on her way to the bank. She didn’t trust Draco or Luna to do the deposits _just_ yet.

  
A door opened to her right, and Fleur opened an eye with another scowl. A girl with red hair, facial piercings and covered in tattoo was standing there.

She held a rolled up piece of paper in her right hand and was fumbling around her clothing. Looking up, the red head let a grin tug at her lips.

  
“Excuse me,” she addressed Fleur.

  
“Do you have a lighter I could borrow please?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates happen when one has two seconds to themselves. Studying always comes first.


	5. Cigarette Break

“I do, _oui,_ ” Fleur held out her small lighter to the red headed woman.   
  
“Oh thank God, you are a lifesaver,” she sighed, skipping over to the Frenchwoman and lighting her cigarette.  
  
“I have been craving a cancer stick for who knows how long. Gotta love these small breaks, hey?”  
  
“You’re preaching to the choir, _mon ami,_ ” Fleur smiled at the other woman, noticing the flat, silver jewellery in her cheeks.  
  
“Ah, where are my manners?” the redhead laughed, breathing out the smoke.  
  
“I’m Ginny. body piercer at _Gryffindor Ink,_ ” she motioned towards the door she came out of with her free hand.  
  
“Fleur, just opened up _Beauxbatons,”_ Fleur responded with a small grin.   
  
“It’s nice to know not everyone in London is on some health kick.”  
  
Ginny laughed again.  
  
“Only a few enjoy a cancer stick these days. I take it in France it’s quite big?”  
  
“Yes, yes it is, but h-”  
  
“Your accent, my older brother Bill is dating some French chick, and she has the same accent as you.”  
  
“Ah, makes sense,” The blonde had the same response for every single sentence like that. She no doubt used to it, after the first day the shop opened, every second customer asked where she was from.   
  
The two talked for quite some time. Their topics varied from where they came from, their families, their lines of work and their love of cigarettes.   
  
“People who give me foul looks whenever I’ve got a cancer stick in my hand can go fuck themselves,” Ginny’s upper lip arched while she tapped the excess off the cigarette.  
  
“It’s my life choice, not theirs, so why should it bother them?”  
  
“Very true, the looks I have received from people have not been the nicest,” Fleur agreed as the wind picked up slightly.   
  
“Mind you, I’m used to people staring at me by now,” the redhead continued with a small grin.   
  
“You don’t see someone like me everyday, but hey, it was my choice.”  
  
Fleur was content just listening to Ginny, but blinked as the door opened, and a brunette stuck her head out with a scowl.   
  
“Ginny! Your client has been waiting for you for ten minutes! Get your behind back in here or I’ll tell them _you’ll_ pay for Parvati’s nostril piercing!”

Ginny’s blue eyes widened as she threw the cigarette onto the ground and stamped on it twice.   
  
“Oops, I totally forgot Parvati was coming today! I thought it was Padma, and at a later time,” Ginny grinned, knowing there was nothing she could do now.  
  
“Well, back to work, then,” she turned to Fleur and smiled.  
  
“Thanks for the light, I’ll see you around!”  
  
“Until next time,” Fleur smiled back with a nod and watched the pierced woman hurry back into the shop.   
  
The brunette woman extended the door for Ginny, and Fleur saw the array of tattoos on her right arm: books, clocks and roses scattered across in such a delicate fashion, it made her breath hitch. The woman shook her head and glanced at Fleur.  
  
“I’m sorry about that, Ginny is a complete scatterbrain at times.”  
  
And with that, the woman shut the door.   
  
Fleur raised an eyebrow, before taking one last drag of her cigarette and also stomping on it. Time had escaped her as well, she needed to get back to work.  
  
Although, that brunette _was_ rather attractive…


	6. Banking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not demand updates. There are more important things in life apart from reading fanfiction, believe it or not. So wanting me to 'update fast' won't make me do so.

 

“Alright, I need to get more anchovies,” Hermione walked pass Dean with her hands in her pockets and her backpack.   
  
Dean smiled, not looking up from his work of a snake on his client’s stomach.   
  
That was code for “I’m going to do banking,” So that no one would suspect and employees would not get worried when they open the safe to find no bank bags inside.  
  
“Can you get me a coffee on your way back?” Ginny poked her head out of her piercing room.   
  
“Fine,” Hermione sighed, and turned on her heel to face Dean.  
  
“How about you?”  
  
“The usual, please,” Dean smiled, still focused on the snake. It was a delicate process, but his client, Lee Jordan, was still as ever.  
  
Hermione turned around again and headed out of her shop.

-

Fleur stuffed the bank bags into her small satchel. It was her turn to bank.   
  
She closed the safe and stepped out to the shop floor and observed what Luna was doing: cutting the stems.  
  
“I need to do banking, I’ll be back in ten minutes,” there was no one in the shop. Luna smiled and nodded, so Fleur made her way out of the shop and turned right.  
  
The bank was only a block or so away, on the corner of Craft street and Preston avenue. Normally, there would be a shute for business owners to put their deposits in, but the hinge was broken.  
  
Fleur sighed and went inside, she would have preferred to just do the deposit outside. It wasn’t her English or anything, just the awkward silence whilst the teller counted the money, coin by coin, note by note.  
  
The blonde let her eyes wander around the bank, silently taking in the plastic plants near the front desk and the tacky red stools.   
  
She was so immersed in the disgusting décor that she didn’t hear the glass doors open and footsteps.   
  
A woman with brown hair walked right pass Fleur to the free teller and handed over her bank deposits.   
  
“Hermione! How is everything?” the teller was enthusiastic, and the tattooed woman gave a small grin back.  
  
“Fine, thanks. Not much has been happening, really.”  
  
“Not busy?”  
  
“Not at all, tattoo wise. However, Ginny’s been flat out with piercings. Everyone wants a septum these days.”  
  
“Never saw the appeal in those, to be honest.”  
  
“Me neither, but she does a fantastic job.”  
  
“That she does. It’s nice to have someone that knows what they’re doing,” the teller smiled and counted quickly, in comparison to the teller serving Fleur.  
  
"I think I'll come in and get that lion touched up."  
  
"The one on your right bicep?"  
  
"That's the one! I'm amazed at how you can remember so well, 'Mione."  
  
"Well, you're a popular guy, Harry. Not to mention the first client at my shop."  
  
_“She’s rather pretty,”_ Fleur thought while she gazed at the brunette’s face, taking in her brown eyes and crooked grin.   
  
She looked the same as she did yesterday; hair tied back into a low, messy ponytail, black jeans and sneakers. She wore a white t-shirt today with a design of a lion. The sleeves cut off the otters and roses on her arms.   
  
_“I wonder if her legs have tattoos,”_ Fleur thought, but snapped alert once the teller cleared her throat.  
  
“Everything is in order. We will deposit this immediately.”  
  
“Thanks,” Fleur nodded, then turned on her heel to head back to her store.   
  
She could feel a pair of eyes on her.


	7. Opposites

The door swung open to _Beauxbatons,_ and Fleur dragged herself to the counter. Luna was ringing up a man for a bouquet, and as usual, the shop was rather quiet.  
  
“You okay, Fleur?” Luna asked as the man left the store. Fleur raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“Are you okay,” Luna repeated with a small grin tugging at the edge of her lips.  
  
“You seem a bit dazed. You didn’t happen to get backhanded by a lorax on your way back from the bank, did you?”  
  
“What? N-no. What even _is_ a rolax?”  
  
“Lorax, and never mind,” Luna smiled, cleaning up the counter.  
  


“I trust all is fine with the bank?”  
  
“Yes, no missing deposits or anything,” Fleur’s answer was absent-minded, as her thoughts drifted to the brunette covered in tattoos.  
  
It was as if fate had smacked her in the stomach, because that very brunette was walking past Fleur’s shop, hands in pockets and earphones present.  
  
“L-Luna,” Fleur suddenly grabbed the blonde’s arm and pointed to the woman.  
  
“Who is that?”  
  
Luna squinted, then laughed.  
  
“That’s Hermione Granger. She owns _Gryffindor Ink,_ the tattoo parlour next door.  
  
“H.G….It makes sense now.”  
  
“We went to Hogwarts Highschool together, but she’s a year older than me.”  
  
“Is that so?” Fleur did some maths in her head, and it would seem that Hermione was three years younger than her.  
  
“Why is a 23-year-old running a tattoo parlour?”  
  
“Simple, she’s a great artist,” Luna got out of Fleur’s grip and smiled.  
  
“Hermione was dux of her year for everything, including visual arts. She’s very creative, as well as intelligent. She go offers to study at Oxford for law, and even Cambridge for dentistry, but she turned all of that down and studied privately under an artist named Minerva McGonagall,”  
  
“H-how do you know all of this?” Fleur’s eyes were locked onto Hermione, but she tore her gaze away once the woman was out of her vision and passed the shop completely.  
  
“I’m good friends with Ginny. The piercer next door who works for Hermione.”  
  
“Ah, her! I have a cigarette every now and then with her,” Fleur’s mind clicked at the name. Not to mention Ginny would be difficult to miss in public.  
  
“Yes, well she does the piercings there. Most tattoo shops these days offer piercings, and Ginny is the best. She’s done my ears and hip dermals.”  
  
“Hip what?” Fleur was confused, so Luna lifted up her apron and pulled down her skirt to show the neat silver studs around her waist line.   
  
“You can pierce your hips?”  
  
“You can pierce anywhere, that’s what Ginny says,” Luna smiled, fixing her clothing as a customer peered through the window.  
  
Fleur bit her lip, then mustered up all of he courage.  
  
“Luna, could you watch the store for five minutes please?”  
  
“Sure, why?”  
  
Before she could get an answer, the Frenchwoman was already out the door.

* * *

 

Hermione sat with her legs crossed as she drew in her sketchbook: a badger with a ball was a strange request for her client, Hannah, but she made due. She could make any idea into a work of art.  
  
There was a jingling of the bell to signal someone was in her store, but Dean was out on the floor so he would great the customer while Ginny did a piercing.  
  
“Hermione? She’s out back, lemme grab her for you,” Dean’s muffled voice sounded, and Hermione felt her heart skip slightly for some strange reason.  
  
The door opened and Dean stuck his head in.  
  
“’Mione, you have a visitor, and they’re quite a stunner,” he smiled and left with a wink.  
  
Confused, Hermione got to her feet and walked out of her office, twiddling her thumbs nervously.  
  
Her heart stood still at the sight.  
  
A blonde woman, with her long hair tied back, was standing In the middle of the parlour. Her light blue dress with an apron on top made her look angelic. Those periwinkle blue eyes glistened as she gazed back, lips pursed lightly and hands behind her back.  
  
Hermione felt her jaw drop, so she clamped it shut at once, trying to look less of a fool than she probably already did.  
  
“Hello,” the blonde woman greeted, with an accent Hermione instantly recognized as French. Hermione took a step forward and extended a shaky hand.  
  
“I’m Hermione…” Her voice died away, leaving her with nothing. The blonde extended her hand as well, and Hermione got goosebumps from how soft her fingers where, despite the tiny pricks on a few of her fingertips.  
  
“My name is Fleur, it’s lovely to meet you.”


End file.
